


the savior must have been a docile gentleman

by ShanaStoryteller



Series: where thou art, that is home [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas fic, F/M, M/M, and a slice of life, i'm sorry it's so late, it was finals, it's not as in depth as i wanted it to be, kind of, look man i don't even know, people have kids, really it's just schmoop, they're all twenty five
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-06 00:33:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShanaStoryteller/pseuds/ShanaStoryteller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gang is all hovering around twenty five and they're starting to get their lives together. </p><p>"Riley, can you please analyze-"<br/>"Stiles!" The twenty five year old professor freezes and the students crane their heads to the scowling black woman the doorway. "You're late. You were supposed to get this class covered, today of all days."<br/>Stiles blinks, capping the expo marker, "That's today? Are you sure?"<br/>Braeden scowls, stomping forward to grab him by the collar of his shirt, "Let's go. Now."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> there are a lot of things, but i'll just put them at the end. i hope you enjoy the fic!

Edit 12/29/13: fixed the many spelling and grammar mistakes. if you see some i missed let me know! also i know i said i'd have the second part up by the 26th, but that was clearly a lie. but i promise it will be up by 2014!! thanks everyone!!  
  


The Savior must have been

A docile Gentleman—

To come so far so cold a Day

For little Fellowmen—

The Road to Bethlehem

Since He and I were Boys

Was leveled, but for that 'twould be

A rugged Billion Miles—

~ Emily Dickinson

 

 

"Riley, can you please analyze-"

"Stiles!" The twenty five year old professor freezes and the students crane their heads to see the scowling black woman in the doorway. "You're _late_. You were supposed to get this class covered, today of all days."

Stiles blinks, capping the expo marker, "That's today? Are you sure?"

Braeden scowls, stomping forward to grab him by the collar of his shirt, "Let's go. Now."

"Ow! Hey, you can't do this! I'm in charge of you, you know!" He grabs for his jacket, just managing to snag it as she hauls him away. "All right everyone! Class dismissed! Make sure to finish reading Julius Caesar for Thursday!"

"Thursday is Christmas!" Rose calls out.

"Then Merry Christmas!" he yells before the door slams shut behind them.

 

"Professor Hale?"

Derek blinks, looking at the girl who's  poked her head through the door into his office. "Yes?" She is in Stiles's special class, and possibly his Shakespeare one.

"Your husband got dragged away by a really angry woman in the middle of class today, just so you know."

He taps his pencil against his lips, "Blonde, redhead, brunette?"

"Brunette."

"Tall or short?"

"Tall."

"Did she have red streaks in her hair?"

"Uh, no."

"Braeden," he nods, going back to his drawing, "Well, he probably deserves it. Thank you for letting me no."

"No problem," she waves before leaving.

 

Isaac _hates_ when the Argents get new recruits. Every time he comes by they fondle their weapons and glare at him, which is creepy and unnecessary. They don't look at his wife that way, although he supposes being part of a werewolf family is different than actually being a werewolf. Plus he's not supposed to appear threatening and antagonize them. Cory doesn't have such restrictions, and takes great pleasure in it.

He enters the clearing where Allison is putting a batch of trainees through the paces. He dodges about half a dozen of pointy projectile weapons and tries not to be insulted. He's married to Cory Hale, like they have any chance of hitting him. He and Peter got really, really good at not getting hit by sharp things while Cory was pregnant.

"Isaac," Allison grins, not even bothering to scold her hunters in training for trying to kill him. She's more likely to yell at them for being so _bad_ at it. "When did you and Cory get back?"

"This morning," he sighs, "You know the meeting was today, right? And happening right now?"

Her mouth drops open before she curses and runs out, calling behind her, "You'll finish up for me, right? Thanks!"

Isaac turns back to the group of trainees glaring at him with open hostility and rubs the back of his neck, "Awesome."

 

"Hey Erica, what's - OW!" her claws are digging into the muscle of his forearm, piercing his lab coat and like, fifth favorite sweater. "What's wrong with you?"

Deaton doesn't even look up from his paperwork as Scott's dragged out of their office by his pissed beta, "You are over an hour late for the council meeting, and Emily is manning the bakery on her own because so are you partners are in crime, and why on earth are you three idiots put in charge of anything?"

"That was today?" he winces as Erica digs her claws in deeper, "Can you let me go now? You're going to get to the bone at this rate."

"You deserve it," she mutters, but wrenches her claws from his arm, casually flicking his blood into the snow. "Now hurry up, Emily looked like she was going to have a panic attack when I left her there."

 

"You too?" he says to Stiles, who's being glared at by his druid.

He nods, "Yeah. Allison should be here soon."

Her car rolls into the parking lot as soon as he says that, and she slams her door shut before seeing them and freezing, "You guys are late too?" Stiles and Scott nod sheepishly, and she shrugs and goes, "Well, it's not like they can pretend to still be surprised by this stuff anymore."

"Will you just get down there?" Erica says, pushing them into Croissant Moon and waving at a frazzled and desperate looking Emily. Braeden rushes to get behind the counter and put on her apron, "Honestly."

They head back after waving to a couple regular customers and heading into kitchen before taking a set of stairs to a lavish conference room hidden beneath the bakery. "Hey everyone!" Scott says cheerfully.

Boyd, Cory, and Lydia all turn to glare at them.

Greg, head of large werewolf network in the south eastern part of America, groans, "Nice of you to show up. Can't we keep dealing with your seconds and pretend we're being led by people that are mildly put together?"

"I'm insulted," Stiles says, throwing himself into the chair Lydia had just vacated and kicking his feet onto the table, "I'm plenty put together. This outfit is wonderfully color coordinated."

"Are you joking?" Meghna, a perfectly respectable hedge witch with an impressive number of contacts across the world, asks. "Is this a joke?"

Stiles stares at her while Scott and Allison take their seats, and Ross, a hunter and head of the McKenna Clan, pats her companionably on the shoulder and says to them, "She's new."

There are some snorts from the others gathered there. Allison flips a dagger in the air, and Scott and Stiles's eyes glow red and silver respectively. "Oh, we don't joke around here. So what'd we miss?"

 

Boyd's behind the counter with Braeden and Emily while Lydia's seated with an enormous latte, looking over their numbers from the past quarter. They used to have Braeden do them before they realized Lydia was faster and more accurate, and was more than willing to take a break from her mathematical research if it meant that she got to tell people what to do. When Erica comes over to top off her drink she says, "Sales for the Moroccan coffee have jumped, we can safely increase our next order by thirty percent. Also the number of pies that were pre-ordered this year for Christmas are just ridiculous."

"Right?" Erica pushes her hip against the counter, leaning over to read the book upside down. "I think it's the strawberry rhubarb recipe Peter finally deigned to give us. I'm thinking of bribing Mark to come and help us fill the orders."

"Hmm," Lydia takes a sip of  her coffee, "Do you have any plans for Valentine's Day yet?"

Erica shrugs, ignoring her husband's gesture to go help him up front, "Same as last year, I suppose, unless you have any ideas?"

"Mini strawberry rhubarb cheesecakes in the shape of hearts?" she offers, "We can make Peter and Mark work on it over the holidays. If they're half as popular as the pies have been, we'll make a killing of it."

"Sounds good to me, I'll run it past Isaac when he gets back," she says before heading over to Boyd.

"Speaking of," Cory says, her son settled on her hip and his hands covered in marker from playing with Caitlin while Cory was busy with council, "I should probably go rescue him. Allison left him training the new recruits."

Lydia sighs, "One of these days his never ending patience is going to snap and every single one of those snot nosed brats are going to get their asses handed to them."

"Probably," she says reasonably before looking down at the two year old, "Want to go get Daddy?"

"Daddy!" the toddler screams, and Cory heads out the front door with a wave to everyone there.

 

They're supposed to be at the Hale House in a few hours, but Mark is still caught in a meeting, so he does the reasonable thing and searches out Mike, who's hiding in his office from Rachel, which Danny doesn't think as entirely fair because she wouldn't get mad at Mike so often if he'd just remember she was a lawyer now, not a paralegal, and couldn't drop everything to help him.

Danny had tried pointing this out to Mike a few times and had just gotten puppy eyes for his trouble.

He finds the older man dejectedly flipping through case files and hops onto his desk, "What's got you in a mood?"

Mike sighs, pushing the files to the side and leaning back in his chair, "Does Harvey seem like a commitment phobe to you?"

Danny looks outside the walls of Mike's glass office, because it's not like the relationship between the senior partner and named partner is exactly a _secret_ , but it isn't usually discussed during work. "Haven't you guys been together for like ten years? That seems like commitment to me."

Mike nods, still not really looking at him, "Does - how long have you and Mark been together?"

"Seven years," Danny says, "Why?"

"And Mark's thirty five to your twenty five," Mike says.

"Yes?" Danny says, confused but not offended because Harvey is twelve years older than Mike, so it's not like he has any stones to throw in this glass house.

"Harvey's turning fifty next year," Mike continues, "I'm thirty eight, and I just - we're not getting any younger, but every time I try to bring it up, he just - brushes it off, or gets pissed. I don't get it."

Danny blinks, "Mike, old buddy, old pal, my dear true friend. I don't have a fucking clue what you're talking about."

Mike drudges up a smile, "Ah, never mind. You and Mark are going back to California for the holidays, right?"

"Hey," Danny frowns, "you can't just ramble like that and not tell me what it's about."

He slumps back, "Harvey refuses to marry me. When I brought it up, I didn't think he'd be excited about it or anything, or necessarily want to, but I thought he'd agree, you know? That he'd roll his eyes and we'd make an appointment at City Hall, and we'd have Rachel and Jessica as our witnesses, then there'd be married sex and that would be that. I didn't expect him to make a big deal of it, but I also didn't expect him to say no, you know?"

Danny does know, and he's a genius, but he doesn't actually have any advice of for him, because he doesn't understand why Harvey would say no either. They're not even close to Stiles and Derek on the gross scale, but are at least comparable devotion wise. He and Rachel get lunch together, and he's heard the stories from the first few years that Mike was working for Harvey, and the idea that Harvey doesn't love Mike enough to marry him is laughable.

"You ready to head out?" Danny startles and turns to see Mark grinning in the doorway, a grin which fades a little when he sees the look on both their faces. "Everything all right?"

"Everything's great," Mike claps Danny on the knee, "Be sure to wish Jackson and Cora a merry Christmas, I didn't get to see them before they left."

"Will do," Mark says, brow furrowed even as Danny slides an arm around his waist, "Same to you and Harvey." Mike's smile doesn't reach his eyes and Mark doesn't say anything until they're heading down in the elevator, "What was that about?"

"If I asked you to marry me, would you say yes?" he asks.

"Of course," Mark blinks, "Do you want to get married?"

"Not really," he shivers at the New York winter chill and hails a taxi, "but I expect that if I ever change my mind, that you'll be on board." He addresses the driver, "Central Park, please."

"No problem," Mark agrees, mystified, "Why did Jackson and Cora leave so early?"

"He has to pick the girls up from Peter and Melissa's - they're unloading everyone's kids early so they can start decorating. Cora refuses to work past Jackson on the principal that Donna never works later than Harvey, so she shouldn't have to for Jackson."

Mark smirks, "Scott's reaction to his mom and Peter is still the funniest thing that has ever happened."

"Oh no," Danny says, "you weren't there last month were you? Chris was giving John a _very hands on_ shooting lesson with a new pistol he got in, and the look on Stiles's and Allison's face will remain forever in my memory."

"The Sheriff and Chris Argent?" he demands, "Seriously?"

"I think they were doing it to freak out their kids," he pauses, "really mostly pretty sure." He pays the cab, and groans again when they step out into the cold air, "I'm not built for this environment you know. You, and your damn European background. I'm _Hawaiian_. My ancestors didn't even have a word for snow."

"My poor baby," Mark mocks even as he takes off his scarf to wind around Danny's neck, "It's your own fault, you know. Your coven set up the portal."

"It's where the concentration of ley lines is largest," he grumbles, "and if we'd made it in the house that meant we could never, ever move. But seriously, why is winter in this state eight months long? How do these people live?"

"With poor tempers and a rudeness that we're now infamous for," Mark grins, allowing Danny to tug  him to the right spot to activate the portal, because honestly as far as he's concerned it's in the middle of one of these cluster of trees.

"Ready?" Danny asks, but activates it before he can answer.

 

Jackson walks in to Croissant Moon, Cora hot on his heels, "You _cannot_ shove those cases off on Carl."

"I don't see why not," Jackson sighs, each of his daughters in one arm and drowsy from a day playing with Uncle Peter. "It's not like he has anything better to do."

"He's senior to you by three years!" she hisses.

He'd shrug if it wouldn't disturb the girls, "We're both still associates. And I'm better than him."

Cora scowls, but doesn't have anything to say to that. Jackson leans down to kiss Lydia on the forehead, and she looks up smiling from her mathematics journal. "Hey. How was work?"

"Forever the stage in which to showcase my grandness."

Lydia rolls her eyes as she takes Ashley into her own arms, "Cora?"

She glares, "Apart from his continued refusal to do any and all work Louis assigns him," he snorts, "that's kind of correct. Jessica's impressed by him, and she's got her name on the door."

Lydia beams, maneuvering Ashley and Mary so they don't bump their heads to when she kisses Jackson, "Proud of you."

"My goal in life," he says, and the sarcasm is belayed by truth of his statement."Come on, let's go home."

 

"I hate politics," Stiles whines, falling into bed beside Derek. The older man puts his book on the nightstand so his husband can curl into his chest, "Those negotiations lasted forever."

"Poor baby," Derek mocks, although he's already digging his thumbs into Stiles's back to massage out the tension there, "How did they go?"

"The usual," he sighs, melting into Derek's touch, "Although there's another alpha in Oregon who's gathering a worryingly large base that hasn't reported to Scott yet. Ralph and his pack are promised to hand deliver her to Scott if she didn't report within three months. Lilith's coven offered to help, and they're fucking terrifying, so I'm sure that it'll work out fine."

Derek's arm encircle Stiles, "One of your students stopped by my office to let me know you'd been kidnapped, the one that's also in your special magic class. I can't believe you actually held class on the twenty third."

"It was optional," he murmurs, "and it was probably Rose. She's a fire starter, a really good one. I kind of want to introduce her to Lydia, but I feel like that would just end in death and destruction."

"Oh come on, Lydia's mellowed out since high school," Derek says, "It would probably only end in destruction."

Stiles laughs, rolling off of Derek and stretching, "I'm going to go check on the twins. What are the chances they're actually asleep?"

"Dad gave them one of their presents early - the next book in that ridiculous ninja series they love. So slim to none."

Stiles tries to look exasperated, but he's pretty sure the grin ruins it, "You know, when we adopted I thought  that meant we'd skip the missing sleep stage of parenting."

"They haven't shredded their bedding in their sleep," Derek yawns, "They're definitely ahead of me and Laura on sleep time disasters."

Stiles creeps to the twins' bedroom, sliding the door open and leaning against the doorway. The lights are off and they're both still underneath their covers. That's their mistake - both boys move in their sleep. "I know you're awake. But nice try. When did you hear me?"

Luke flicks on the light while Liam turns over on his bed, "We knew you were here since you came home, but we didn't hear you until you turned the corner."

Stiles smiles, "It's long past your bedtime, you know."

"But Daddy," Luke whines, "Grampa gave us a book today! We _have_ to find out what happens next!"

He taps his finger against his lips, "You have to? You need to know?"

Both boys nod their head, and Liam shyly holds out his copy, "Will you read it to us Daddy? Luke's better at reading the big words, so he was reading it aloud, but you do the voices when you read."

"So, you're saying you want me to extend your bedtime and spend time I could be sleeping reading to you?"

Both his sons nod vigorously, and if they were cute, irresistible four years olds when he and Derek first got them, then at nearly six their pleading faces are devastating. "All right, move over. But after I finish, you have to promise to go to bed, okay?"

They both nod eagerly as Luke scoots over so his dad can climb into bed and Liam runs over to his brother's side of the room and snuggles up to Stiles's side.

Almost an hour later he falls back into bed beside Derek, who curls an arm around his back and whispers in his ear, "Softie. You spoil them."

"Pot, kettle, black," he whispers back before snuggling closer to his husband and falling asleep.

 _"_ Cory!" Peter calls, hurrying out the front door to kiss her on both cheeks and take the toddler from her arms, "Marcus! Did you miss Grampa? Grampa missed you!" With his grandson clutched to his chest and his arm around his daughter’s shoulder, he steers them both up the driveway.

"Hi, Dad," Isaac says conversationally while leaning against the car, "It’s nice to see you too, I’m great, thanks for asking. Just take away my wife and son, that’s cool. I’ll just stay here. Bereft and alone."

Jackson snorts, but Peter heaves a dramatic sigh and hands Marcus back to his mother. He sprints over, and Isaac braces himself for when Peter throws his arms around him and slams them both bodily against the Jaguar. “My son! I’ve shed tears every day of your absence, and longed for this moment when you’re back in my arms!”

Isaac pushes against Peter’s shoulders ineffectually, wheezing, “I take it back, go away. Look! Your daughter and grandson are over there!”

"No!" Peter insists, "I would not have you doubt my love and devotion! Every second of these last two weeks that you spent gallivanting in London have torn at my soul!"

"I'm not sure gallivanting is quite the right word for making international contacts in both the werewolf and hunter communities," Cory muses after handing her son off to his grandmother, "but I suppose I'll let you have it."

"If I wasn't a werewolf I'd have passed out from oxygen deprivation by now," Isaac sighs, "You can let me go now."

"I would not wish my only son to go unloved," Peter insists.

"Only son?" Scott calls, having just rolled up with Allison, Erica and Boyd. "Ouch, I'm telling Mom you said that."

"My other son!" Peter cries, running towards the now panicked high alpha, "Do not doubt my love!"

Isaac shares a grin with Jackson, more than happy to leave Scott to his fate as long as it means he gets away. "Coward," Jackson mocks. Ashley's in the stage where she agrees with everything her father says, so she nods so hard her ponytail comes loose at that.

Emily and Caitlin beam as they shove bags onto his arms, and Isaac resigns himself to being a pack mule when Braeden hands him a casserole and two pies to balance on top of that. "Peter's not that bad."

Isaac scoffs, "You have no idea. None. I have no idea what Melissa sees in him."

"He's hot," Braeden supplies, "I mean he's a Hale, so obviously, but seriously. Hot like burning. If Melissa hadn't already called dibs I totally would have hit that."

Isaac, now thoroughly traumatized, walks up the stairs without a backwards glance because he'd so prefer setting up for Christmas Eve dinner than listening to how hot his father in law is. Cory, who'd long ago gotten over the fact that she has a hot dad, laughs at him.

He goes back outside to stare pitifully at Allison, who sighs and lets him press his ear to her belly and count their newest pack member's heartbeat, and the best part is Peter is still busy killing Scott so the high alpha can't even mock him for it.

"I want to hear!" Isaac opens his eyes to Liam and Luke looking pleadingly at Allison, "We want to hear our cousin!"

Stiles and Derek are edging around the mess that is Peter and Scott, but when they finally make it over they see Allison on her knees and both of their sons' heads pressed to her stomach. "How's it going?"

She shrugs, "Pretty good. Scott's not treating me like glass anymore, since Lydia and Cory yelled at him for a good hour about that."

"She's pregnant, not invalid," Isaac says like he's said it a few times before. Which to be fair, he and Jackson had figured that out pretty quick about their wives. Lydia and Cory were fucking terrifying when their hormones got out of control.

Stiles pouts, "It's not fair, I can't hear my god child's heartbeat!"

"We'll help you Daddy!" Liam calls, grabbing Stiles's hand.

"I'll tap your hand for every heartbeat, see?" Luke says. Beaming, he proceeds to tap out the beats onto his skin, and Stiles's heart melts all over again. Every time he thinks he can't love his sons anymore, they go and do something like this.

"Hey everyone!" Melissa calls cheerfully from the doorway, "Obviously you're all welcome to stay outside. But the food and adults are inside."

"How long until she acknowledges we're adults?" Allison asks.

"Approximately never," Derek says, grabbing a twin under each arm and marching them inside.

Allison watches them for a moment before saying, "On a scale of one to ten, how useful is werewolf strength and senses when it comes to kids?"

"Ten," Isaac and Stiles say at the same time.

Allison giggles, letting each of them slide their arm through hers as they lead her into the McCall-Hale home.

Peter is still trying to express his paternal love to a struggling Scott in the driveway. Of course, as the High Alpha, he's easily strong enough to break away from Peter's grasp.

But he doesn't. He wouldn't say he _needed_ paternal love, but it's nice to have.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have absolutely no excuse guys, just that life and school got away from me, and sorry it's so late and thanks for your patience. i hope you like it!

Liam and Luke are fascinated by Marcus, and how the toddler can't walk right or smell right or do anything. They're adorably gentle with their human baby cousin, and are deliriously excited for Aunt Allison's baby, helplessly curious as to what babies look like when they're brand new. 

Ashley and Mary aren't nearly so fascinating, they feel just like Aunt Lydia does (although Mary's smaller, and Ashley is a very good big sister, but she's not a wolf, and she's little, so they keep an eye out, because Ashley can take care of herself, she gets this mad face like her mom, but Mary's all big eyes and tears whenever something goes wrong, and Papa says she got that from Uncle Jackson).

"Boys," Aunty Cory leans down, and she's human too, like Aunt Allison, but not like Marcus is, they can be scary when they want to be. "Time for dinner, okay?"

"Yes ma'am," they grin, tugging Marcus to his feet so he can stumble into his mom's arms. Not listening to the uncles is usually a lot of fun, but they all know better than to mess around with the aunts. 

 

Peter did all the cooking, and it's fantastic, of course, but about twenty minutes in he gets so smug that Isaac flicks a fork at him. Which then causes Scott to send a spoon full of potatoes at him, but it hits Lydia instead, and after that it is on, and the waste of good food is only a little bit upsetting, because as Erica wisely points out, that just means there's plenty of room for dessert. 

 

The kids are in the process of running around the tree like hellions, and John, Peter, Chris, and Kevin are huddled in the corner, nursing the too strong eggnog Mellissa had made, because for such a small woman she has a hell of a tolerance. 

Kevin nudges Chris's boot with a grin, "Only five more months, and you can join the grandpa club."

"She makes me feel so fucking old," Chris mutters while Kevin and John side eye Peter. He and Mellissa haven't aged a day in the last decade, it's fucking weird. It's not even like his is a werewolf thing, because Kevin's getting just as grey as the rest of them.

John pats Chris's knee consolingly, and pointedly leaves it there when he's done, "It's all right, you'll always be a gilf to me."

"What?" Chris demands while Kevin buries his face in his hands and Peter chokes on his laughter.

"Grandpa I'd like to fuck," he says with a completely straight face, because Stiles didn't get it all from Claudia, okay. Chris's face goes bright red and he's pretty sure it's Scott and Stiles that are the ones making retching noises from the other room, so it's a win-win, really.

"Oh my God," Isaac's face is spasming from John's last comment, and Cory tries to muffle her laughter into his shoulder. Boyd's face is stoic, if a little red, but both Erica and Lydia are cackling. Jackson doesn't even twitch, and how does he do that. "Do you think they actually hook up?"

"I hope so," Lydia crows, "Oh god, please that them be banging."

"I hate you all," Stiles mutters, mostly on Scott's lap because they're low on seats and their spouses are in the kitchen taking care of dishes. "My father doesn't have sex. He doesn't."

Scott pats his soldier, but he's just a tiny bit gleeful that he feels this pain too. He knows his mom has sex with Peter, and Cory just laughs at him whenever their parents do something embarrassing. Isaac is the only one who shares his man pain. 

Until now.

Scott is a hundred percent sure he's not hiding his sadistic glee well enough, because Stiles pinches him viciously in the ribs. 

 

Cory, Lydia, and Boyd eventually congregate in the spare bedroom upstairs, tablets out as they look at the official copies of all treaties. Because, yes, it's Christmas, but considering how their fearless leaders have decided to actually start having official global contacts, they don't have the time to waste. 

Treaties and agreements have to be signed and sent out by the first, otherwise everyone gives them bitch faces. They could leave it to their leaders, but they're the level headed ones for a reason, really, and they've each got their leaders trained to sign whatever they put in front of them, so it's probably best not to interrupt the trend.

"How's you and Jackson's French?" Boyd asks, squinting at the recent negotiation, and when, exactly, did running a supernatural empire become such a bureaucracy, is what he'd like to know.

She shrugs, "We're both fluent. Jackson's accent is more Paris, and mine's more lower France."

"You should make the Europe trip next year," Boyd chewed his lip, "Cory, you did well enough, but these guys seem like a level of snobbery that would respond well to well - the Whittimore level of snobbery."

"You can take the whole fucking European circuit," she growls, tossing aside a treaty from a coven in Italy, because animal sacrifices wouldn't normally be a deal breaker (they're better than human sacrifices, at least) but sacrificing wolves every full moon is probably taking it a little too far. "We'll do the Middle East. Isaac's Arabic is almost flawless."

"Can't we just make Derek do all these?" Lydia sighs, "He's fluent in like, eight languages. He and Stiles can just spend half the year traveling the world doing negotiations. The twins would love it." 

"He and Scott wouldn't be able to handle the separation anxiety," Boyd says. Lydia and Cory laugh, because he's not wrong.

 

Mark is in the middle of a childish argument with Laura, yet another in the endless string of them. Normally Danny would be content to leave them to it, but he just got a picture message from Mike. 

It's not anything incriminating, just his hand and Harvey's slotted together in front of the fire. Which wouldn't be remarkable, really, except for the matching golden rings they're both sporting. First thing when they get back to New York, he and Mike are getting lunch, and he's telling Danny everything. 

Until then, he cuts off his boyfriend mid sentence by pulling him into a kiss, ignoring Laura's huff of annoyance as she wanders off, to irritate Derek no doubt. "What was that for?" 

Danny shows him his phone, grinning even while Mark thumps his head on his shoulder and moans, "They're going to be insufferable about this, going back to the office is going to be awful." 

 

Pete loves his family, of course he does. How can he not? They're ridiculous and wonderful and hilarious, and every single one of them would lay down their life for him, no questions asked. However, that doesn't mean he doesn't find them all exhausting. He was too young when all the shit went down to remember it very clearly. But it's been Stiles and Derek and Laura and Scott, Argents and emissaries, and things going horribly wrong until their not, all this death and drama. And it was worth it in the end obviously, but Pete's not really into that, knows that he's part of the most powerful magical family in the world, that he regularly talks and hangs out with people that wolves and witches and hunters three times his age would kill to have a conversation with. 

But he's not really a drama kind of guy. He goes to school in Boston, and his political science degree is all well and good, but he's gunning for medical school after this, because just because he heals with supernatural speed, doesn't mean the rest of the world does. It kind of terrifies him, some days, how black and white his body is. If it doesn't kill him, he'll walk away without a scratch. He can get run over by cars and fall off buildings, and it'll hurt like hell and take some time, but in the end it'll be nothing. The idea of any werewolf dying of disease is laughable.   
There's this girl, her name is Riley, back in Boston. She's a musician, attends Berklee as a cellist and her heart beat is irregular, it doesn't stick to a rhythm, and sometimes that's all he can think about when he's with her. Not her skin or her laugh or her warmth up against his side, but the way her heart flutters in her chest like an uncertain hummingbird, and he'd almost wanted to invite her over, because she has a distant aunt and no one else, and oh, how she'd love his family, be instantly taken with all of them. Her and Derek would get on best he thinks, although she'd probably be equally fascinated and intimidated by Lydia and Erica. 

Pete doesn't want them to hear her heartbeat, is the thing. They'll know. He hasn't even asked Laura for permission to read her in yet, but the second any of the wolves hear her, they'll know, and they'll start thinking of inevitabilities, like he hasn't already. And he can respect her choice, if it comes down to the end of the wire and she doesn't want to be like him, doesn't want golden eyes and claws, but if she does, if she can live with the pull of the moon, then he has three alpha's on hand that would die for him, and certainly bite for him.

"What's got you all broody?" Erica grins, throwing herself down beside him and throwing an arm around his shoulder. "Come on, Peter's almost drunk enough to start singing, that's not something we can miss."

He smiles, standing and pulling her up with him, "No, of course not. Let's go."

 

Allison is half asleep on the couch with Luke and Liam curled around her stomach, and Scott and Stiles are contorted in the armchair with Stiles's head tucked under Scott's chin. 

"They're all ridiculous," Mark murmurs to Derek as he helps Danny slip on his coat. 

His brother shrugs, flicking his eyes to Stiles and smiling, "Yeah, pretty much. See you at ours tomorrow night?"

"Of course," Danny says, leaning into Mark, but the easiness in his face hardens, "Also, I'm sure Stiles will bitch at me for this later, but I was talking to Lydia, and apparently the new pack that's causing trouble has Morrell as an emissary. So that might be something to keep an eye out for."

Derek's eyes flash red, "Do you think she'll try to come after him again?"

Danny huffs and Mark slaps him on the shoulder, "Relax, if she couldn't taken him when he was seventeen, it's not like she's going to be able to now. Besides, even if she could get past Stiles, there's Lydia. And me. Braeden and Emily aren't exactly pushovers either."

He rubs the back of his neck, and tries not to blush. Mark says, "You do realize that he's been more powerful than you and holding his own since he was like thirteen, right?"

"He walked into a door frame this morning and Saturday he accidentally put salt in our coffee instead of sugar."

Danny snorts, "Typical," and tugs on the edge of Mark's coat, "Don't over think it, Lydia and I just thought you'd want to know. We'll see you tomorrow."

Derek shuts the door behind them, and breathes deep for a moment before going back into the living room. Alison's sleepy gaze meets his, and he crosses the room to press a kiss to her forehead. "Want me to get my little monsters off?"

She yawns, "S'okay. They're warm. Nice Scott substitute while he's wrapped up in Stiles."

That's literal - they're legs are a jumbled mess and Scott's arms are tight around Stile's shoulders, the mage's head is pressed to his chest. Derek quirks a smile, "How about I stick all three of you in Scott's old room, and I'll take the couch? Our husbands seem content as they are."

"Good thing we're so pretty," she mutters as Derek gently lifts her into his arms, and she'd complain about this normally, but she's tired and lazy and Derek is solid and warm and safe. "Otherwise they would have just married each other." 

Derek snorts, but doesn't contradict her as he carries her up the stairs. She curls up into the covers with a sigh, but when she shivers he says, "I'll be right back." And Luke and Liam don't make a peep when he picks one up with each arm and carries them upstairs, putting each on one side of her. 

They automatically resume their previous position of curled up around her, and Allison wraps her arms around them both, murmuring, "Werewolves make the best heaters," before dozing off. 

Derek rolls his eyes, but closes the door gently when he leaves. He can tell by their heart beats that Peter and Mellissa are asleep upstairs, and he grabs two blankets on his way down. He could easily take the other guest bedroom, he and Stiles have spent months apart before (and okay it's been a decade since then, but still), he's not so ridiculous that he wants to have Stiles close enough to touch, or paranoid enough to want him close enough to see and hear and protect, because that would be silly and illogical, there's really not many things that Stiles and Scott can't handle together, and certainly none of those things are ones Derek could stand a chance against. 

He tucks in the blanket in around Scott's shoulders, making sure it pools down the middle so that he can tuck it in under Stiles's chin. The younger man leans into Derek's hands, and he cups the side of Stiles's face out of habit as his husband slowly blinks open his eyes. "Hey," he's trapped by Scott's arms and the blanket both, but tilts his face into Derek's palm, warm brown eyes and sleep flushed skin. 

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," and it's been fifteen years of their life together, how can Stiles still do this to him, he aches with his love for Stiles, it chokes the breath from his lungs and makes him feel like he's walking on tightrope, and at one end is Stiles, but above him is Stiles and below him is Stiles, so he falls and falls, spends his life falling with the love of his life's smile and long pale fingers, fuck, why didn't Stiles ever learn the piano, and it doesn't matter, because Stiles's is going to catch him, has always caught him, every time he's stumbled. 

Stiles lips drag across the skin of his hand, and oh god, it's been eight years of Stiles's lips and hands and cock - if there's something like a seven year itch, he's pretty sure they skipped right over that, because he wants, eternally and constantly, and why was it that no one ever tells you that loving is a slow, wonderfully painful kind of death. They talk about butterflies and miss the way maybe it's more like maggots inside you, forever eating away all your rotting tissue so you're nothing but perfect and new, a sandpapering down of your soul until you're polished and the best of you is all that's left, that's what love is, he thinks, or at least it's the only love he's ever known. 

Oh, god, he just compared Stiles to maggots and sandpaper. He thinks back to the yellowing letters he and Stiles keep in a box in their closet, of the clumsy, stumbling poems they exchanged back when they were still figuring out how much of each other they were willing to take, and wonders where all his romance went. 

"You are my heart," Stiles says, quiet and slow in his sincerity, "Every breath of your lungs is the pump of blood in my veins." Derek tilts his forehead against Stiles's, and almost laughs at how his harsh breaths almost match the thump of his husband's pulse. "My obsession with your heart beat has always been self preservation, because if yours ever stopped then so would mine, should you ever cease breathing my heart will stutter to a stop, and my blood will slosh listlessly in my veins without you to give it a reason to move forward."

Scott is going to kill them for this later, but really, how can he not after that. He keeps it chaste, presses and brushes their lips together before he pulls back enough to murmur into Stiles's mouth, "I love you, god, do I love you." 

Stiles's grin is impish as he snuggles back into Scott's chest and whispers, "Forever and always," the same vow they spoke on their wedding day, and one they've made more than once since then, as if it would run out, a reminder that's almost as solid as the rings on their fingers. 

Derek presses his lips to Stiles's forehead before finally crawling onto the couch - because even though there's an empty bedroom upstairs, he doesn't like spending the night away from Stiles, because he's ridiculous and wants him close enough to touch, because he's paranoid and wants Stiles close enough to see and hear and protect - just in case. 

He's almost all the way asleep when Scott shift and tighten his hold on Stiles, whispering loud enough for them both to hear, "You guys are so fucking gross, oh my god."

Stiles laughs so hard he nearly knocks them both out of the chair, and Derek hides his smile in the couch cushion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone! i'm really, hilariously busy, and that's my only excuse really. stories in this universe will be put on a bit of a back burner until my life gets less hectic :(
> 
> Salt Water Mixed With Air, my charity fic for hpficfiend, will be posted in the first week of march :)

**Author's Note:**

> so i'll have part two up tomorrow. I really did want this to be a bigger thing, but then finals happened, so there's roughly a ton of loose ends for this series that i have to clean up that i didn't manage to do here. on the list for this series is the starbucks drive through, how melissa found out, sterek from one of their student's perspective, and one or two deal with loose ends. i've gotten a few request for a supernatural crossover fic, how would you guys feel about that?  
> if you have any more prompts, feel free to drop them off at my tumblr: shanastoryteller.  
> also, one more thing. hpficfiend won me in the sterek auction, so sometime in early february keep an eye out for:  
> Salt Water Mixed With Air - Derek’s eyes are red, Peter’s are blue, his are gold, and Isaac is gone.


End file.
